


When Gods Go To War

by DizzyDrea



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Trope Bingo Round 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was what happened when gods went to war, after all. And if only a few people noticed or cared, well, that suited those few just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Gods Go To War

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Season 4 episode "If-Then-Else", and then polished up and edited to fit a Trope Bingo square. Also, totally coincidental that the show mentioned [SPOILER] searching for The Machine like you would a virus in the most recent episode. It's what inspired me to post this now.
> 
> For the _celebratory kiss_ square on my Trope Bingo card.
> 
> Disclaimer: Person of Interest belongs to Jonathan Nolan, Bad Robot Productions, Kilmer Productions, Warner Bros Television Productions and a lot of other people who aren't me. I'm doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

In the end, the world didn't tremble or fall. In fact, most people hardly noticed anything amiss. 

Oh, there were flickers, glitches. The subway trains ran just slightly late one day. Isolated blackouts. The occasional ATM malfunction, but really that was more of a blessing, because who wouldn't want free money?

Some did wonder why technology seemed to be... revolting, all at once. But even they chalked it up to humans finally getting their due for allowing so much technology to live their daily lives for them so that they forgot what it was like to live in the real world. 

There were a few more murders that week than New York's finest were used to seeing. A white-haired old man. A guy in a suit who looked like a banker. A blond woman of no particular distinction. There were others, in various cities around the world, but most went unmarked and unmourned. 

A very few knew what had actually happened, how close we'd actually come to the end of the world. 

They stood now, in the dim light of an abandoned subway station, the ones who'd survived the war, unsure of what to do now that the fight was over. The array of computers before them, normally full of information, making connections out of nothing at all, sat silent and dark.

"Do you suppose it knew what it was doing?" Harold Finch asked of no one in particular.

Sam Shaw snorted. "It was a computer, Harold. It was only doing what it was programmed to do."

"I never programmed it to do this," Harold insisted.

"She knew she'd have to do something drastic to end the war, Harry," Root said. "She valued human life—human choice—too much to let it go on longer. You taught her that."

"Perhaps," Harold said, though it was plain he still didn't believe it. "The Machine was designed to protect human life at all costs. I never expected it to choose to sacrifice itself to do that."

"Turning itself into a virus and attacking Samaritan's servers was an... elegant solution," John Reese said. 

"I suppose you'd have rather busted down the front door, guns blazing?" Lionel Fusco asked.

John smiled. "I do prefer the direct approach."

Both Sam and Root snorted at that.

"I suppose this means we'll have to find some other way to occupy our time," Harold said on a sigh.

"Well, I for one could use a vacation," Fusco said. "No new numbers for a while sounds just about right"

"You should all take some time," Harold said. "You've certainly earned it."

"What will you do, Harry?" Root asked.

"Dismantle this equipment, for a start. And someone will need to dispose of the arsenal you all seemed to think we needed," Harold said repressively, turning to level a fondly exasperated look at John.

John merely smiled. "I'll take care of it, Harold."

When Harold turned back to the computers, one of the monitors flickered to life, a blinking cursor awaiting input.

"Is that...?" Sam asked.

Harold shuffled up to the computers, sitting down and typing a few commands on the keyboard. Lines and lines of code scrolled across the monitor, the glow reflected on his glasses.

"What is it?" Fusco asked, though there was really no question what it was.

"It would appear that The Machine hid a copy of its core code somewhere," Harold said, a touch of awe in his voice.

Root grinned. "A lifeboat! Of course she'd think of that!"

"A lifeboat?" Sam, John and Fusco asked in unison.

"An apt description, Ms Groves," Harold said. "It would have taken entirely too much memory to save The Machine as it existed yesterday, but the core code is what it began with, before I undertook its training."

"So you can start over now?" Fusco asked. "The Machine 2.0?"

All eyes turned to the detective, who simply shrugged.

"The Machine will never be what it was, but perhaps it can be better," Harold said.

"More than the sum of its parts, Harold?" John asked.

"In a manner of speaking, Mr Reese, yes," Harold said.

Harold began typing, losing himself in the code and the possibilities now before him. Sam and Root smiled at each other and the others. Root leaned over and pressed a kiss to Harold's cheek before the two women took their leave. Fusco just huffed a laugh at the unlikely pair.

"Tell Glasses not to work too hard," Fusco told John. He headed for the door, but turned at the last minute. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

John smiled. "Bright and early, Lionel."

Fusco smiled, then left.

John moved to stand behind Harold, watching as the code scrolled across the screen. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling the thrum of life and purpose under his fingers. Giving a squeeze, he caught the ghost of a smile on Harold's face before he moved off to check over his arsenal.

The end of the world might not have come, but the world had continued to spin. And soon enough, The Machine would rise from the ashes like the great Phoenix in all its glory. When that happened, the numbers would return and they'd all have a purpose again. Until then, he would make sure they had what they needed.

This was what happened when gods went to war, after all. And if only a few people noticed or cared, well, that suited those few just fine.

~Finis


End file.
